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"Good," it said. "Then let's go wake the dead."
The figure tilted its head. Rain ran off its hat in silver curtains. fort marrok
The water was gone. Instead, a pale light pulsed far below, revealing walls covered in carvings that hadn't been there yesterday. Symbols. Hundreds of them, spiraling down into darkness. And at the very bottom, barely visible, a door. "Good," it said
The figure reached out with one too-long hand. From its sleeve, something clinked—a key, old and brass, shaped like a howling wolf's head. a pale light pulsed far below
"The door at the bottom of the well isn't an exit," it said. "It's an invitation. Fort Marrok was never built to keep enemies out, Elara. It was built to keep something in."